𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

“ Unfinished Business ”

Beyoncé lay comfortably in Victoria's bed, a light sheet draped over her naked body, savoring the afterglow of their passionate night. Her phone rang, breaking the peaceful silence. She reached for it, squinting at the caller ID. It was Onika.

She sighed and answered the call, her voice laced with irritation. “Madam President, what do you want?”

“Where are you?” Onika demanded, her tone sharp and possessive.

“That’s not your concern anymore,” Beyoncé replied curtly.

“Get out of that woman’s bed,” Onika ordered.

Beyoncé’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you following me?” she whispered loudly.

“And you opened your legs for another bitch. Get out of there,” Onika barked.

“I’m ending this call,” Beyoncé said, her frustration mounting.

“I need you at the office,” Onika insisted.

“No,” Beyoncé responded firmly.

“What’s her name?” Onika asked, her voice dripping with jealousy.

Beyoncé cursed in French. “Onika, goodbye.”

“I’m not done. You’re not ending this call,” Onika said possessively, her tone hardening.

Beyoncé felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. “What did you do?”

“Get out,” Onika repeated.

Beyoncé’s instincts flared. She stood up immediately, dressing quickly as she remained on the call. “What the fuck are you up to?” she demanded, making her way to the elevator.

Onika’s voice was a venomous whisper. “Something that's none of your concern but seriously, Beyoncé? You dirty-talked that bitch in French. You didn’t even give me the pleasure of hearing your—”

Beyoncé interrupted her, her voice filled with a mix of fear and anger. “Did you wire her place? Oh my God, you’re sick, obsessed. Stay away from me.”

Their argument grew louder and harsher as Beyoncé rushed to leave the building. The elevator doors closed, and she leaned against the wall, her heart pounding.

“You have no right to control me,” Beyoncé snapped.

“I have every right,” Onika retorted. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not your possession,” Beyoncé shot back. “You’re delusional if you think this behavior is love.”

Onika’s voice softened, but the underlying threat remained. “I just want you safe. I can’t lose you.”

Beyoncé’s fury spiked. “Safe? You’re the danger I need to be safe from. This is over, Onika. Whatever this was, it’s done.”

Beyoncé stood in the elevator, her heart still racing from the confrontation with Onika. Onika's voice crackled through the phone, cold and commanding.

“Look up in the corner,” Onika instructed.

Beyoncé’s eyes darted to the upper corner of the elevator, where a small security camera blinked ominously. She glared into the lens, anger seething just below the surface. “Can you see me?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Yes,” Onika replied smoothly. “And you look beautiful, besides that ripped dress.”

Beyoncé’s hand went to the tear in her dress, her frustration boiling over. “Onika, you need to stop this. This is beyond inappropriate. You have no right to spy on me.”